


Maybe It's A Puzzle I Don't Understand

by HolySnickerPuffs



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resurrection, Wakes & Funerals, Whoops! Xehanort is a Good Guy! (For Now)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolySnickerPuffs/pseuds/HolySnickerPuffs
Summary: A retelling of the Kingdom Hearts lore in rough chronological order, written by someone who hasn't played any of the games and doesn't know the lore.To be fair, up until a few months ago I was living with someone who was a superfan of the series and told me basically everything about the games, so I'm pretty sure that's cheating. I was onlykindapaying attention though, so who's to say?(Title from Keane's "Is It Any Wonder")
Kudos: 4





	1. Canon Primo

A thousand years ago…

Friday, just after lunch…

Oswald the High Keyblade Master let out his last breath. The weather was slightly overcast; just as clouded as it was sunny. He must have thought it fitting, as he slipped away, that even the sky followed his teachings.

He wasn’t alone. There were seven others in the room, his most loyal and trusted students. He did not ask them to be with him in their final moments, but come they did regardless. Their hearts brimming with sweet memories, they wished to keep him company as he passed and pay their final respects, thanking him for all he had done over his many years of life. After several moments of silence, the eldest of his students (nearly the High Master’s age herself), slowly stood up. She made her way to the body of the High Master. On the table next to his bed, there was a thin, neatly-folded sheet. She carefully unfolded it and laid it over him.

It was a blanket made of common cloth, hand-made by her decades prior as a thank-you gift. It was his most cherished possession, even as his riches and reputation grew. He requested to be buried in it.

Without turning back to the other students, she began the eulogy.

“You all know this, I’m sure, but before I was the first of Oswald’s students, I knew him as ‘father’. More than half a century ago, when I was just a child, he took me off the streets and raised me as his own daughter. He was only a decade older than me, living alone, and poor even by commoner standards, but his heart could not bear to see a child suffer.”

Several of the other students nodded. Although they had met him long after, they too were hand-picked by him, and saved from a horrid life.

“It was not until several years later that I learned of Keyblades, reading the dusty tomes that were in his family for generations. I begged him to teach me the art, which he only knew a basic understanding of himself. We both launched into research, and when we learned everything we could he began creating his own lessons. By the time we both summoned our Keyblades for the first time, others had heard of our training and asked to be taught. The rest is, as they say, history.”

“Speaking of history, I believe...” she paused, voice wavering. She swallowed, taking another second to regain her composure. “I believe there is a short ritual that we must perform, before we go any further.”

She grasped the blanket she laid over Oswald’s body, and slowly, delicately, pulled it over his head. When his face was totally obscured, she gently removed his mask, that of a rabbit, and placed it on the small table beside the bed.

“To pay respects to our fallen High Master, the Mask of the Lucky Rabbit shall never again be worn by a Keyblade wielder.”

As the words left her lips, she began to sob. Her hands jolted up to her face, under her Mask of the Clever Fox. She collapsed, and the other students rushed to her side. As they comforted her, helped her to her feet, and helped her out of the room, an unspoken promise was made between the group.

Once Ave had finished grieving, they would tell the world of Oswald’s passing; not a second sooner.

\---

Three weeks later, although she still struggled with Oswald’s death, Ave requested that the rest of the school finally learn about his fate. The other students were hesitant, but agreed, and by the end of the fourth week every Keyblade wielder in the world learned that The High Keyblade Master had died.

This, unfortunately, led to the Great Schism.

The history of Keyblades, as Oswald taught, starts with the birth of the universe. As the stars and planets formed, Light and Darkness fought for who should rule them. In their brawl, the first, most perfect Keyblade was formed. So, he continued, Keyblade wielders cannot exist without both Light and Darkness, and should strive to keep both in balance. If one side falters, the other will grow stronger, and Keyblades will become no more.

While many of his students respected this lesson, others doubted it. No battle should last in an eternal stalemate, they believed. There must always be a “right” side. As such, when the news of Oswald’s death reached these people, they began to form their own schools, teaching the ways of only Light or Darkness exclusively. Those who believed that Oswald’s teachings were the only way-- still a vast majority of his students-- saw these one-sided schools as a passing fad. There was no way that a non-balanced Keyblade wielder could best a balanced one.

The schools were not a passing fad, and their students were far stronger than the balanced students.

As the one-sided schools discovered, each side had a “specialty”. The powers of Darkness increased the strength of the single wielder, letting them deal devastating blows quickly and easily. On the flipside, the powers of Light increased the strength of the collective. The more students of Light together in one place, the stronger their abilities, doubly so for their healing spells and magic barriers.

While a student of balance didn’t reap every reward of Light or Darkness, they didn’t suffer any of the penalties. Those who followed Darkness, while not entirely emotionless, were ‘numb’ to many sensations, as their training forced them to push past any pain they may feel. To contrast, the followers of Light had no solo training, and became so reliant on the group that they became fragile as glass by themselves, both emotionally and physically. The wielders of the two sides burned bright and hot like fireworks, lasting just as long. Students of Balance, however, were exempt from this trend and could live out their lives to their natural end, like non-wielders.

While one could train further to offset the penalties of only Light or Dark, a rare few gave the idea much consideration in this era, and many still would nary get the chance. Roughly a decade after the Great Schism, two followers of Darkness left their schools to pursue greater plans. The first had discovered a fascinating experiment, the second a fascinating story. Because of this, nearly every Keyblade Wielder would be dead within a year.

\---

Luxu was ill that afternoon, but still went to his classes. He’d attended for worse, after all, and the same could be said for other students. It was an unspoken rule at every School of Darkness that you should only stay home if you were dead, or would be so within an hour. The students occasionally joked that even if you'd die in an hour and two seconds, you should still show up.

The rules were strict, sure, but the administration weren’t barbarians. If you were so ill you were bleeding profusely, were missing a limb or two, or you just couldn't focus, you could excuse yourself from lessons and go to the medical ward.

Luxu had been suffering in the bathroom, curled up on the ground for the last forty-five minutes, so he felt he had good reason to go there now.

On his way there, he passed a number of classrooms. Most had their doors closed, but several were cracked open, and he glanced inside as he passed. One class was learning how to cast Fira, a fireball spell. Another was learning how to use items to supplement the subpar healing spells the followers of Darkness had. A third had students using Darkness to control each other's bodies. A fourth was-

Wait.

Luxu quickly turned back to look into the third open classroom. It was filled with upperclassmen, two or three years ahead of him. They were all sitting around a table, reading their textbooks and conversing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so perhaps he'd just imagined it?

One of the upperclassmen grinned, and nudged the person sitting next to him. The other whispered something Luxu could just barely hear, a reprimanding of “Dude. Don’t do it again.” The first student’s smile grew wider as he whispered back, “I’m not gonna do it to Brain this time. Look at Skuld.”

The first one quietly summoned his Keyblade and fired a bolt of darkness at a sleeping third student, likely Skuld. They shot up, tense and glowing with an inky purple aura. Like a marionette, they shuffled over to an unoccupied table. They climbed up on it, then backflipped off, the aura around them disappearing just after they launched.

When they hit the ground, stomach first, they jolted awake with a pained groan. The first student burst out in laughter as their friends berated him.

Watching this unfold from the other side of a slightly-open door, Luxu couldn’t quite process what he had witnessed. Maybe it was the sickness, maybe it was the visceral reaction to watching someone walk around like they were being controlled by an amature puppeteer. He didn’t know. What he *did* know, however, was that he needed to get away and gather his thoughts. 

So he did.

Bolting out of the nearest exit, he ran as hard and fast as he could to get away from the school. He didn’t stop until his body forced him to. Which, his illness considered, should’ve been a lot sooner than two kilometers away. As he collapsed on a hill, lungs heaving and body on fire, he could do nothing but process what he saw just minutes ago.

And as his mind turned over the events, a very odd thing happened. While it still shook him, he found himself growing more and more intrigued about it. He didn’t know what to compare the sensation to; finding something repulsive in so many ways, but after consideration realizing the feeling in your chest isn't repulsion, but curiosity. It made him want to know more, possibly even try to do it himself.

When his breathing had evened out, his mind jumped to something else, a similar trick he saw another upperclassman do several months back. They had turned themselves into pure Darkness, a cloud-like form with a vague ant-like shape, to evade an attack. He wasn’t sure why his brain clicked to that memory, but it sparked an idea. If an upperclassman could do both of these things, what would happen if they combined them?

He sat on that hilltop for nearly an hour, pondering it.

\---

Simultaneous to Luxu’s revelation, another student was having an epiphany of his own.

He was in the library, reading a contraband textbook of ancient Keyblade legends while invisible. This textbook (which was not invisible on purpose, making him look like a jackass) was contraband because it was from a different branch of the Keyblade Schools. Since there were only two others, the Schools of Balance and the Schools of Light, it was obviously from one of them, but he didn’t particularly care which. It was ~*contraband*~, and that alone made it cool as hell. Only nerds asked for info beyond that, he felt.

This particular book had a pretty interesting history. It was a word-for-word copy of a book owned by the last High Keyblade Master, some old fart named Oswald who died a couple years back. Well, he assumed it was a copy. He doubted that anyone would be stupid enough to leave a pristine, ancient textbook out in the open for him to yoink. Apparently, all this stuff was legit too, and written hundreds if-not thousands of years ago.

That’s why it caught his attention when he read something familiar. 

The legend he was reading told of the numerous falls and rises of Keyblade wielders, and prophesied that there would be exactly one more of each, both greater than any before them. The Final Rise, as the book called it, chronicled the last hundred years or so note-for-note, based on what he could remember from the history lessons he slept through. That was pretty interesting by itself, but when paired with the Final Fall after it, it really grabbed him.

According to this book of prophecies, the Final Fall would begin with a crack in the Keyblade wielder society. As the fractures grew deeper, three factions would form, and in time they would wage a great war. Beyond that, the foreteller writing the prophecy admits, it’s too unsure to tell any further, but it’s unlikely that the art of Keyblade wielding would survive. 

The student’s face lit up with a cruel, twisted smile after reading this. Ever the class clown, he was a notorious prank puller. Sure, he would go overboard on occasion, if by occasion you mean every single time, but by the end everyone would laugh it off.

His favorite prank was swinging around his keyblade while chanting, "I'm just swinging my Keyblade around! If you run into it, that's on you!" while chasing people around. It often resulted in limbs being lost. What fond memories!

What would be a better prank than causing a prophesied war to happen as soon as possible? God, imagine the seas of laughter that would happen once the dust settled. It would be deafening, and as any comedian would tell you, the louder the laughter the better.

Of course, HE couldn’t orchestrate the Best Prank Ever. He was just some teenager, not even graduated. He needed a title, something that commanded power. He made one up on the spot; The Master of Masters.

Sure, it sounded stupid, but so did the title of High Keyblade Master, and that was the highest rank possible! For a fake title, it certainly sounded like the legit ones.

Now, all he needed was a new look. So, how could one look experienced quickly? A battle wound, of course! But which one? A scar? No, too subtle. A missing limb? On the right track, but too messy to do quickly. Also, if it was *his* limbs missing it wouldn't be very funny, and as stated previously he was a big fan of the funny. So, the newly-named Master of Masters had this conundrum-- what missing body part is the funniest to have missing, but still gave an air of respect and authority?

The answer came to him immediately, and he cracked a little joke about it. “*Eye* think I have an idea…”

He cackled as he plunged his Keyblade into his right eye. He was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [glidewinder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glidewinder/pseuds/glidewinder), who was the superfan I mentioned in the fic summary! He beta'd this for me and gave me some good feedback, most of it being along the lines of "this is not at all what happened, but it's really good/funny so keep it".
> 
> Go read hys fic, ["You Who I Call Brother"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360685/chapters/58747786)!


	2. Phantom (Parts I and II)

The Great Keyblade War began about three months later.

There’s no point in sharing specifics. So many lives were lost that telling each of their stories would take until the end of time. It was a tragedy, full of blood and sorrow. Friendships were shattered, lovers were forced to kill each other, families were torn apart. Like so many wars before it and after, there was no victor. There were only survivors who were left to pick up the pieces. Only those with minds irreversibly twisted would find any humor in this horror.

In the end, the followers of Balance were almost completely wiped out. Scattered to the winds, their schools were destroyed in raging fires and the earth they stood on salted. The followers of Darkness fared significantly better, it’s survivors were crippled in one way or another, and painted as amoral villains in the post-war propaganda. The followers of Light used their strength-in-numbers powers to not only survive, but thrive in the chaos of battle. 

You cannot declare any soldier a “hero”; no one who gladly takes another’s life is. But, if you must choose one nonetheless, there is only one true “hero” of this conflict.

Yourname Lastname.

Just saying their name would send shivers down the spine of anyone who heard you, regardless of their affiliation. Yourname was a follower of Light, but they slaughtered with a precision and speed beyond even that of a follower of Darkness. They could not be killed, but eviscerated everyone in their path.

At first, they were compared to a train. Then, a force of nature. Then, finally, God. It took them merely ten days to achieve this title. The war lasted five long, bloody years.

When the war finally ended, the followers of Light were declared the victors by default, as they had razed the competition to nothingness.

The last piece of dust settled, and Yourname erupted into laughter. It was much like the sea-- dark and deep, pulling you down and down until you couldn’t see, until you choked to death on the water filling your lungs.

Once their laughter subsided, Yourname gathered his strongest soldiers. They sent them off, some to their homeland, others to the worlds beyond, with an order; Rebuild the schools, so that the art of Keyblade wielding can survive. 

This order came with an obvious stipulation. The Schools must follow the teachings of Light, and Light exclusively, “or else”. A vague threat, but given Yourname’s reputation it was easy to fill in the blanks.

In the early years after The Great Keyblade War, there were few new recruits. After all, no war is without civilian casualties. To these third-parties, the affiliation of the wielders are irrelevant, but the destruction and chaos they caused would haunt them for decades. As the years marched forward, and the soldiers of war were replaced by the keepers of peace, tensions lessened. In time, the schools of Light were bustling again.

Decades later, Yourname Lastname laid in their deathbed. It was years since the War, but the memory was still fresh in their minds. They smiled as, with a death rattle, they let out a final, hollow chuckle.

When no one is around to appreciate the humor, all the prankster can do is laugh. The Master of Master’s final thought was one of pride. All these years in disguise, and no one thought to unmask the jester. No one even conceived of the possibility; that the author of the greatest play in existence could also play the leading role.

\----

Simultaneous to The Master of Master’s death, Luxu was having a chuckle of his own.

He had done it.

After decades of research, running from the war that always seemed a step behind him, and countless experiments, he had finally done it.

The man whose body he now inhabited was homeless. He, desperate for room and board, agreed to be the guinea pig in Luxu’s experiment. He was old, but far less so than the now geriatric Luxu. As his mind now raced with a speed he hadn’t known in years, he noticed flaws in his procedure. He could make the possession smoother, faster. All he needed to do was get to work. 

So he did.

When a body got too old, or injured beyond what Curaga could fix, he would search for a new host. He would only go for those in crisis, in desperate need of a way out, no matter the cost. As pure Darkness, he would enter their Hearts and mold them from the inside out until they could fit his own. Then, controlling their bodies would be as easy as controlling his own. As thanks, he would solve their issues, whatever they may be, returning to his work immediately after.

After a hundred years, he perfected the art. After two hundred, he invented several other skills and perfected them as well. He was an immortal now. Nothing could touch him, and no one would ever reach his level of mastery.

Yet therein lay the problem. He ached for a peer.

Without one, all of his work, his research, his struggle, would be lost to time.

He began to search. First, for any remnants of the schools of Balance. Anyone who recorded their teachings, a direct descendant, any scrap of information he could get his hands on. He journeyed the world, and after thirty years of fruitless search he considered searching the other worlds as well. He found exactly what he was looking for in the only place he didn’t check; right out in the open. Behind a dark display case in a museum, mislabeled as “Occult Teachings”, he found several textbooks gathering dust. Desperate, he stole them when no one was looking.

After this, he scouted the Schools of Light. They were known just as the Schools now, the other ways forgotten and vilified. He analyzed the students from a distance, looking for the perfect candidate to teach the ways of Darkness. If the teachings were too dissimilar, he would attempt to bridge the gap with the teachings of Balance, their common ancestor.

Many of them were too weak, as he expected. Others were, to his surprise, uptight ponces. It took several hundred years to find the ideal student, but Luxu was no stranger to careful waiting at this point, and he knew it would be well worth the wait.

His name was Xehanort, and he was the same age that Luxu was when he left his own School all those centuries ago. He even looked like Luxu did at that age, although his current host body was nothing of the sort. He was eager to learn, almost as eager as Luxu was to teach.

He brought him to live at a cottage of his, away from the eyes of the followers of Light. It was built by one of his previous hosts, and he lived in it and kept it maintained for the last 120 years, through four different hosts. Once Xehanort was adjusted, they plunged into lessons. They were all crash courses, condensing centuries of technique into daily studies.

Luxu, not letting the world pass him by for the first time in eons, was surprised at how fast the years progressed. Before he knew it, half a decade had passed, and Xehanort had learned all Luxu could teach him. He was as proud as a father when he bestowed the title of “Master of Darkness” upon him, in a small ceremony in the backyard.

“Thank you, Master Luxu,” Xehanort had said once the ceremony had ended and they began a congratulatory game of 'tossing the ol' pigskin around', “but I have confession. I know the lessons front to back, but I still don’t... **feel** like a Master of Darkness.”

The ball was caught by Luxu, and Luxu was caught by surprise. “Oh? Whyever do you say that?”

“I don’t feel evil, and I never have!”

This question came from so far out of left field, Luxu couldn’t help but let out an incredulous chuckle. “...What?” He threw the pigskin back.

“I have to be evil in order to truly be a Master of Darkness, don’t I? Have I failed you?”

Luxu let out a sigh. “After all this time, you still believe the Light’s propaganda?”

“But Master Luxu, is it not true?”

“Of course not. I’ve told you this many times before, my boy. No side is truly evil. I was taught that Light was the enemy when I was your age, all those centuries ago, but I unlearned that. If I had known you had these thoughts sooner, I would’ve helped you do the same.”

After a moment of reflection, Xehanort swore to Luxu that he understood. But, in his core, he still didn’t believe his teacher. That doubt stuck with him, even as he left the comfort of Luxu’s cottage a year later. It stuck with him throughout the years as he, like his father before him, waited until the perfect student appeared before him. Unlike Luxu, however, he didn’t find his perfect student in a school.

He found him in an orphanage.

He remembers it clearly, the serendipity of the event keeping it fresh in his mind. The sun was just beginning to set as he walked through the streets of Radiant Garden. He was just at a School there, interviewing a number of students that he thought showed promise. But, as he met with them and talked, he was met with disappointment after disappointment. Some weren’t strong enough, others were far too aggressive. A few were so incompetent that they were unfit to be Keyblade wielders at all, let alone his students. He even met with an old schoolmate, whose young daughter showed an unheard of proficiency in ice magic. The classmate explicitly stated his daughter was off-limits for Xehanort's "little scheme".

He was upset then. "What kind of father are you", he responded, "to limit your daughter's potential? Furthermore, what kind of friend are you to insult my plans?!"

As he pondered where to look next, his eyes met with a child. They were very young, three at the oldest, and looking out from behind a display window. Their eyes were an emerald green that shone with a certain spark, the same one Xehanort was looking for all these years.

He smiled at the child. The child smiled back.

He knew instantly that the child was an orphan. He had been settled in this town for nearly a decade, living in a small house just beyond the outskirts as he scouted for students from the nearby Schools. Even before he moved in, he was familiar with the streets. He visited, on occasion, to meet with a friend he knew from his days as a student of Light. He was a professor at the School Xehanort had just left, and a number of years ago adopted a daughter from this very establishment.

It was funny, he thought. Although life took them both on such different paths, Xehanort and his old classmate Eraqus were so incredibly similar.

\---

The child he adopted was named Vanitas. Full of vigor, his hair and soul were the same blazing color; the golden orange of a sunset. 

It remained that way for ten years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you probably noticed, the first two chapters had titles taken from songs. That'll be a recurring thing! Each game will have all of it's chapter titles taken from a single band's catalogue. Union Cross was Justice, and Birth by Sleep will be Genesis. Since I'm posting these as I finish them, you'll need to wait a while until you see any BBS chapters. Sorry for the wait!
> 
> Fragmentary Passage will likely have two chapters, one that covers the whole game and another that covers a different thing that takes place at the same time. The chapter titles will come from Oingo Boingo songs for reasons that'll be clear when I post them.


	3. Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"All the pumping’s nearly over for my sweet heart. This is the one for me."_

It was not long after Vanitas’ thirteenth birthday that Master Xehanort planned a trip for them to visit the Badlands. The main purpose was for education, as most of their trips away from home were, but there was another reason Xehanort chose the Badlands in particular.

Vanitas adjusted the heavy rucksack on his back with a look of confusion. "Why did we bring all these supplies if we're just going to train? Shouldn't I only need my Keyblade and a snack or two?"

“If we were just here to train, my child, then yes," Xehanort began. "But this place is far too important to spend a single training session in. So, we'll be spending a few days here."

Vanitas looked around. It was dark. "Why's this cave so important? Is it because it's so dark? Did a famous Keyblade user get lost in here or something?" He asked, voice sounding a bit more rude than he intended.

Xehanort laughed, increasing the glow his Keyblade gave off. The tunnel was flooded with light. "You could've just asked, boy!" His chuckles subsided, and he continued. "But no, it's not this cave in particular that's so special; it's the world itself. As you should recall from your studies a few days ago, this place used to be part of our world."

Vanitas beamed, then frowned. "...you wouldn't tell me how that happened, though!!"

"I had planned to, but I thought it fitting for us to visit as well. You remind me of myself when I was a student-- if I couldn’t see it or do it myself, I couldn’t retain a thing I was taught. Not to mention, a bland lecture could seem thrice as long and four times as agonizing. The Badlands were an invaluable, almost sacred location for ancient Keyblade wielders. We can still, and should, learn much from it today.”

Vanitas lifted his arms up and rested his head on his forearms, sighing over-dramatically. “You always do that, Dad. You make stuff sound super exciting and _boring_ at the same time. I can never tell what’s actually going to be fun.” He spun on his heels, continuing forwards but now walking backwards. “Is that a dad thing, or is that a teacher thing?”

“You insolent child,” Xehanort began, a lightness in his voice. “I take you off-world, to a historic site of our profession, and you worry this will be boring?!” He stopped walking for a moment and snuffed the light from his Keyblade, the artificial glow giving way to stray beams of natural sunlight. “We’re nearly at the mouth. You’ll see for yourself how wrong you are.”

Vanitas tilted his head back, then turned fully to get a better view. Xehanort was right, the mouth of the cave was just up ahead, and he could see the pinkish-blue sky of sunrise. He bolted forward, and his arms began swinging wildly in counterbalance as his nearly-overloaded backpack threatened to throw him to the ground.

As he ran out of the cave, he slowed to a steady walk as he processed his surroundings in awe. Everywhere he looked, there was pale orange rock, the peaks painted pink from the pale morning sky. The cave was at the top of a plateau, and from this perch Vanitas could see for miles as valleys and mountains snaked beyond the horizon. Halfway between him and the rising sun, there was a massive crater, with a time-worn but still perfectly cylindrical hole through the mountains next to it. Something of unbelievable power blasted through those mountains to leave that crater, but what was strong enough to leave such a clean hole?

He reached the edge and sat down, muttering to himself in amazement.

Xehanort set down his own backpack and, with arms folded behind his back, looked on as well. He was familiar with this view, but it still amazed him after all these years. It was beautiful, hauntingly so. 

He looked towards his student. “Any thoughts?”

Vanitas gave a soft chuckle, still in awe of the majesty. “This was so worth going through the fart tunnel.”

The silence of appreciation gave way to the silence of offense. “...T-the fart tunnel?!”

Vanitas glanced back at his father’s face, which was twisted in horror. 

“Vanitas, do NOT refer to the Dark Passageways in such a way!”

“But it smelled terrible!”

The moment was ruined.

\---

Just over an hour later, their campsite was set up. It was a modest arrangement, with two small tents and a miniature portable stove to cook meals on. Vanitas was having a light snack-- celery sticks filled with peanut butter and topped with raisins; 'Shadows on a Log' as they called it-- while he was waiting for his teacher to return. Xehanort had gone down into the canyons to survey any potential dangers. By this, he had obviously been referring to any Heartless that may be lurking around. Vanitas still hadn’t heard the story of this place yet (which was ticking him off), but he imagined that a place that was supposedly really important to Keyblade wielders would have some pretty strong Heartless. He had experience fighting Heartless, but they were some of the weakest kinds. Could he take on the ones here? The question excited him. He loved the feeling of improving, and if he could take on the tough guys here he’d get real strong!

Vanitas was sitting on the ground just outside of his tent, and from this spot he could _just_ see the sloping path that Xehanort went down to enter the canyons. He glanced over every few seconds, hoping to see him come back up. On the thirteenth glace, just as he was about to turn around again, he saw his teacher’s bald, veiny forehead come out from behind a rock. He shoved the last three celery sticks into his mouth and chewed vigorously. He wanted to be ready to go as soon as Xehanort got there.

Just before Xehanort reached him, he started to choke on his mouthful of half-eaten celery and peanut butter. He fumbled for his bottle of apple juice to wash it down. Xehanort flashed him that look he often gave Vanitas, one of vague confusion and parental concern, but said nothing until Vanitas caught his breath.

“While there are many Heartless in the canyons”, Xehanort began, “they’re spread out. We should be fine against one or two at a time, but if you feel overwhelmed I can assist you in battle. While we’re down there, I can tell you the story of this-”

Vanitas burst out with a wild grin and a “HELL YEAH!”, shooting forty feet in the air. As he slowly descended, the crater in the distance caught his eye. The rocks around it seemed to shimmer as he descended, as if they were covered in glitter.

When he landed, Xehanort gave him a pat on the head. “I know you’re excited, child, but you must keep your Aeroga uses under control. What if we were indoors?”

“We’re not though,” Vanitas laughed. “C’mon, let’s go!” He summoned his Keyblade and ran off down the cliff path. Xehanort shook his head and, with a smile, followed after his student.

\---

He began the story of the War not long into their walk.

“Nearly a thousand years ago, back when this world was part of our own, this was the birthplace of the modern Keyblade warrior. Keyblades have existed since the dawn of time, and the art of wielding came with them, but both were nearly forgotten until one Master, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, made it known again.”

Vanitas was bewildered. “A rabbit? Animals can use Keyblades?”

“You’d be surprised. But no, Oswald wasn’t an actual rabbit. That was his title. In the ancient days, every Master wore a mask, and that mask was their title. Be it a bear, a snake, a unicorn, what have you. The practice was abolished after the Great Keyblade War, but there’s no clear reason why. But, I am digressing. Master Oswald had brought the art of Keyblade wielding back to life, but a schism formed in his school. Many of his students disagreed with his teachings. They broke off into their own sections, and bickered with each other. Tensions grew, and war soon erupted. The final battle took place in these canyons, in the streets of a city that it left no trace of.”

As they turned a corner, they saw something sticking out of the ground. Vanitas, recognising the shape, approached it. It looked like the hilt of a Keyblade, dirty and rusted from centuries of weathering. He pulled on it and, with some effort, freed it. The teeth were shaped like a star.

“It was tradition,” Xehanort continued after a moment, “to place a Keyblade in the ground at the spot where it’s wielder died, should they fall in combat, as a form of respect.”

Vanitas' eyes widened and he silently, gently, placed it back in the ground.

They continued on their path, and the number of Keyblades they saw increased. Most were stuck in the ground as the first one was, but several were scattered, as if they fell out of someone’s hands and left there. After a few more minutes of walking, the only path through the sea of Keyblades was thin and weaving, growing thinner with each step. The number of scattered Keyblades far outnumbered the upright ones at this point, and it became impossible to avoid walking on them.

Vanitas had stopped, his arms tightening around himself as he stared out at the sea of Keyblades in abject terror. “Dad, I’m scared. I don’t want to be here.”

Xehanort let out a heavy sigh and turned around. He pulled Vanitas into a tight hug. “I know, child. I despise this as well. Our destination is not much further, and as horrid as this place is, you must see it. If the past is not learned, it will be repeated.” He pulled away, and looked at his student in the eyes. “What happened here cannot come to pass again.”

Vanitas nodded silently, eyes moistening. He wiped them dry and sniffed.

Xehanort turned back towards their destination as he stood up, but before he continued on the path he held out his hand. Vanitas grabbed it.

The sea of Keyblades suddenly stopped about forty yards ahead of them, and the ground gently sloped upwards until it suddenly dropped off again. After climbing up the slope, Vanitas realized where they were.

The crater.

It was massive, now that they were on the edge of it. A few thousand feet across, probably more. It was unbelievably shallow for how large it was, and looked only ten feet deep. Vanitas confirmed this by jumping in. He was exactly half the size of the crater’s walls, being exactly five feet tall, so he had sized it up perfectly. He was so proud of himself for eyeballing it correctly that it lessened the grip of fear.

He yelled up to his teacher, who still stood on the crater’s edge. “What made this?”

“Not what,” Xehanort called down, “but who!”

Before his teacher could start another lecture, Vanitas saw several spots grow on the ground near him. Some were black, some were white, but they all pulsed in a way that was instantly recognisable.

Heartless, ready to erupt from the ground at any moment to strike.

He turned to run, but the spots shot in front of him with a speed he’d never seen before. Like oil gushing out from a well, Darkness and Light exploded from the spots and began to take form. The Dark Heartless looked as he expected a strong Heartless to look; while they still resembled the weaker, ant-like Heartless he was familiar with, they seemed more evolved. They were shaped more like people, glowing blue cracks were scattered across their forms like lightning bolts. Their antennae were much longer as well, flowing back and still, rather than sticking forward and twitching.

He was entirely unfamiliar with the Light Heartless. They looked like worn-out socks with limbs, tattered and bleached from over-washing. They lightly flapped and shuddered in a wind that wasn’t there. Is this what overflowing Light does to someone’s heart?

Vanitas summoned his Keyblade. If he couldn’t run, he might as well fight!

Xehanort broke out in a cold sweat as he saw the Heartless erupt from the ground. His student, his son was in way over his head. Vanitas struggled against four weak Heartless at once; but against twenty much stronger ones, seven of which being Light Heartless which became much more powerful in groups? His son was in grave danger. Xehanort worried that his body couldn’t move fast enough to save him.

“VANITAS!”, Xehanort yelled. “DON’T ENGAGE THEM!” He raised his Keyblade and fired a bolt of Thundaga at the horde surrounding his son. It would take out many of them, stunning others, but it wouldn’t be enough. He had to buy himself time, just enough to reach his son and join the battle, and Thundaga seemed his best bet.

He threw himself over the crater’s edge and skidded down the side. He ran as fast as he could, even using puffs of Aerora to blast him further along. Just when he got close enough, the Heartless scattered.

The battle was already over.

There, at the exact center of the crater, lay his son’s lifeless body.

Xehanort fell to his knees, his Keyblade clattering to the ground. He had failed-- as a Keyblade Master, as a teacher, as a father.

He wailed.

\---

** No. **

The agony and sorrow flooding his mind faded into clarity.

He hadn’t failed yet. There had to be something, surely. Something that could save Vanitas’ life.

Then, a spark. A memory, decades old, of a story centuries older than that. Something his own Master had told him, mentioning it off-hand at the start of a lesson.

The exact phrasing was long-forgotten, but the message itself was still a burning memory. Darkness and Light, in their purest forms, had power overwhelming. Before the creation of spells, ancient Keyblade Masters used pure Darkness and Light to perform any number of tasks, many of which seemed like miracles to the non-wielder.

Miracles…

He slowly stood, and raised an arm far above his head. Instantly, his Keyblade disappeared from the ground and materialized in his outstretched hand. Putting both on the hilt, he pointed his Keyblade at his son’s body.

He had no other option.

He blinked away his tears. 

A massive beam of Darkness blasted out of his Keyblade. 

Eight seconds later, he stopped the dark purple flow and slowly lowered his Keyblade. The canyons were filled with an otherworldly silence.

A shining light, Vanitas’ heart, rose from the boy’s motionless chest, guided by Darkness. It moved horizontally, passed his feet, and settled back down several feet away. The shape of the Darkness, a pulsing cloud, shimmered and burst, and began to reform in an entirely different shape.

It was a new body.

The form solidified. From the smooth shapes formed a face. Hair. Fingers. Musculature. Clothing. _Color._

The new body jolted, gasping for air. The old body remained still.

Vanitas’ eyes fluttered open, now the same bright gold as his father’s. “Dad?” he called, voice weak.

Xehanort laughed, tears flowing from his eyes. “Yes, Vanitas?”

“Could we go home? That fight took a lot out of me...”

More laughter, more tears. “Of course, my boy.”

“Thanks, Dad…” With that, his eyes closed again, and he fell asleep. Tenderly, his father picked him up and, summoning a Dark Passageway, carried him home.

\--

Vanitas woke up several hours later in his bed at home. He threw himself upright in surprise. How'd he get back here? The last thing he remembered was fighting all those Heartless. He patted his chest and sides, the spots where he was hit during the battle. No bruises, no pain. He felt… honestly, kind of normal? He could just barely recall seeing his Dad’s face during the fight, so maybe he saved him?

Still, though. That didn’t explain the lack of pain. He usually ached after a fight, even after using Cure or items. They couldn’t heal everything, after all. So, why--?

His bedroom door creaked open, interrupting his train of thought. It was… Xehanort!

“Dad!” Vanitas ripped off his blankets and ran to his father, throwing his arms around him in a bear hug. “...What happened?”, he asked after a moment. He slightly pulled away, just enough so he could look up at him.

“I had expected that you would struggle against a high number of strong Heartless, but I couldn’t have predicted that so many would come out at once. I apologize for not going down with you into the crater as soon as you went in.”

“I was the one who went in, Dad. I should be the one apologizing.” The hug had ended by this point, and Vanitas was sitting down on his bed. “What… happened after I blacked out?”

Xehanort turned his head away. “I reached you just as you went down, and casted my strongest Curaga. You were still unconscious, however, so I finished the fight for you,” he lied.

A wild smile grew on Vanitas’ face. “Did you whoop their butts?”, he asked with a giggle.

Xehanort smirked. “You’re asking if I, a seasoned Master with decades of skill and knowledge, was able to ‘whoop their butts’, as you so eloquently put it?” His faux-offense made his son burst into laughter. “Of course I did, boy. They didn’t stand a chance.”

It was true. After bringing him home, Xehanort went back to the Keyblade Graveyard to retrieve Vanitas’ original body and bury it in the forest near their home. Immediately after, he returned to slaughter every Heartless he could find until the sun had been down for a few hours.

Once his chuckling died down, the smile on Vanitas’ face fell. “Aw, I’m sorry for ending the camping trip early, Dad. It was pretty fun… up until that part with all the Keyblades.”

“It’s no issue at all, my child. You’ve seen it once, and that’s enough for me. However, I didn’t get to finish my lesson on the Great Keyblade War and the separation of our world and the Badlands, so we’ll continue with that in the morning.”

Vanitas groaned.

“In fact”, Xehanort continued, a mischievous tone growing in his voice. “Since we’re back home, I can use our textbooks and go into even further detail. I won't bore with a minute-by-minute account, of course. Three minute sections should suffice well enough. I may even start from the very beginning so you can truly become an expert!”

Vanitas groaned even louder.

\---

Soon, Vanitas returned to bed, as did Xehanort, and they slept the rest of the night. Later the next morning, Vanitas stumbled half-asleep into the bathroom to take a shower, and yelped when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His hair had gone from light brown to an ashy black, and his eyes from green to gold. He immediately ran out of the bathroom to show it to Xehanort. His father admitted he already knew, but claimed he didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: An old man adopts a corpse, his daughter is concerned, and a himbo cries while listening to the Beach Boys. **_ALL THIS AND MORE!!!_**


End file.
